Exceptions
by pixiepaparazzi
Summary: AH. Bella Swan is having a rough night, so when an smooth-talking bartender starts giving her life advice, she can't help but have some difficulty accepting it. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Bella and Edward are both property of Stephenie Meyer. If I owned them, my mother might kill me in order to have them for herself.**

So, I'm not really sure where this came from xD I went to go see _He's Just Not That Into You_ the other night (which I'm sadly only giving a 5 or 6 out of 10 rating on my personal movie scale), and a rough I idea for a story popped into my head. If there's any mistakes, let me know, I haven't slept properly in days, so I'm worried that this story may need a bit more tweaking.

Oh, and I just wanted to say, I'm Canadian, so the legal drinking age in Ontario is 19, though we can serve alcohol at 18. Just in case that's different in the States at all xD

Please review? =] And enjoy!

* * *

It was times like these when I really and truly hated my life.

Really, what had I done wrong? All I did was _dance_ with the guy. Sure, I flirted a little, but I had no idea that he was... uhg. Do I look like a psychic, a seer, a prophetess? No; I look like a dim-witted nineteen year old girl with no insights on the world and no morals to boot. Thank you, world. Goodnight.

I banged my head against the bar. Dull pain echoed in my brain after the two solid thumps, and I groaned outwardly out of frustration at life.

Why did society build us up on the false pretenses that everyone had a soul mate, and that if we were ourselves (with "minor" alterations to better our physical appearances), we would be able to find these soul mates? Why were women so for this idea, and men so against it? Why did I always attract the wrong men; do I let our a particular pheromone that called all the maniacs in Seattle— no, in this _country— _to come drool at my feet?

"_Why, why, why..._" I moaned quietly each time my head came down on the tabletop.

"There's actually quite a simple answer to that statement," cut in a smooth, velvety voice. My head snapped up in surprise, and I felt a sharp stab at my neck.

"Ow," I murmured quietly, rubbing at the now tender kink in my neck. Slowly, I raised my eyes to survey the owner of the voice, which was still smoothly speaking as if we had been chatting idly.

"I'd once thought about going into philosophy, but was advised against it," he continued, his own eyes down at the bar table which he was polishing with a stained-looking rag. "Apparently for their final exam, they're only asked one question, your question, actually." He turned to look at me then, and the heat I felt pounding in my neck instantly flooded my cheeks.

That man had to have the single most gorgeous pair of green eyes I had ever seen in my nineteen years of existence. They were like looking into liquid sea glass— light refraction and all.

Suddenly, I realized he was smiling at me. Feeling my cheeks heat further, I returned the gesture weakly and seeming satisfied, he continued with his story.

"Why?" he breathed, and I felt the dramatic edge to that single syllabled word. It hovered in the air, nearly tuning out the background noises of glasses clinking and drunken fits of laughter. It rang of magnificence...or maybe I was just going crazy because this man was speaking to me. Either way, I felt an smile tug on my lips: a real one this time. As if he sensed it, he grinned as well, lifting a pale hand to sift through bronze-coloured strands.

I suddenly felt very self-conscious of my own dark, heavy hair.

"Why," he murmured again, almost to himself. "The class was aghast. One word can mean many things, and how does one exactly explain the entire significance of why? Wouldn't one think it be impossible?" He turned to grin crookedly at me. "Do you think it impossible?"

I blinked. His eyes were on mine, gently imploring, and my mind had gone blank. I blinked again, and managed a half-hearted shrug. His smile widened, and he came over to stand directly in front of me before leaning across the table to that we were at eye level. I gulped audibly.

"There was one man, apparently," he continued, still smiling, "one man who walked out of that exam room in less than five minutes. And do you know what? _He was the only one who passed._"

I stared at this man, this beautiful, odd man, of whom I had no idea of what he was talking about. He chuckled, straightening himself, while I peered up at him nervously through my thick bangs. He seemed to be waiting for something, and I hoped to God it wasn't me. But as the silence stretched on, I realized he _was_ in fact waiting for me, and that I was looking ridiculous for not the first, but the second time that night.

Awkwardly I cleared my throat. He looked at me, observing me patiently like a teacher to a child with a learning disability, and I felt my face heat up again.

"What did he write?" I finally managed to choke out.

The man leaned down again, but closer this time. His cheek pressed against mine as he whispered two words in my ear: "_Why not?_"

He was upright again, laughing, and I could feel the stunned look frozen on my features. I quickly attempted to compose myself and glared at him.

"Did you... did you just make that up?" I spluttered before blushing again. I hated the way my voice sounded; so childish and high. He grinned again, flashing a perfect set of white teeth.

"Are you accusing me of lying?" he asked, and I felt my cheeks flare again. His eyes were wickedly amused as he crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked down at me patronizingly.

"Yes, yes I am." I said with as much dignity as I could muster, fighting to keep my glare steady.

He laughed again, his arms uncrossing so that he could lean across from me once more. "And is it just me who is a liar tonight, or am I merely the unfortunate fellow who must take the fall for his gender?"

I gaped at him, while his eyes twinkled with mirth. I felt my temper rise, and this time it was not difficult to control my voice or my facial features.

"You," I said vehemently, "know nothing."

"Ah," he replied, tapping his finger to his temple knowingly. "But I do."

"No," I retorted. "You don't."

I knew I was pouting like a five-year-old, but I didn't care. I'd forgotten the general rule: all men are the same, no matter how much their eyes resembled sea glass. They could not be trusted, no matter how beautiful they appeared to be. Actually, it was usually quite the opposite: the more beautiful a man was, the less you should trust him. But here I was, with a beautiful man, letting him whisper in my ear like I was still in highschool and could be manipulated by his seemingly wise words of wisdom.

Nice try, buddy.

"If I'm not mistaken," he spoke, pulling me from my bitter thoughts, "were you not just banging you head against my bar, asking life's great question?"

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. "So what if I was?"

"Well," he grinned— he seemed to be doing a lot of that. "Didn't I just answer it for you?"

I opened my mouth to speak... but nothing came out. We sat there, his grin slowly becoming a smirk, while I gaped like a fish trying to think of some witty retort. But of course, none came.

"I thought so," he said smugly.

Instead of bothering to reply, I simply banged my head back down on the bar, and closed my eyes.

"It's not as if that answer helps," I couldn't help but mutter darkly.

I sighed, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps to let me know that I was finally left in peace. I waited and waited, but my breathing was the only thing I was aware of besides the other familiar noises. Slowly, I rolled my head to one side to peek up through a layer of hair. My view may have been obscured, but at least I could see enough so that I could finally assess whether or not it was safe to raise my head again.

It was not.

He was leaning against the back of the bar across from me, still smirking. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. My head snapped back up again, and a sharp throb instantly reminded me why I had to stop doing that.

But instead of rubbing my neck again, or even saying ow, I simply flashed a grin of my own at the boy behind the bar. The smirk slipped from his features and his eyes narrowed slightly, obviously trying to understand where my sudden surge of confidence came from.

"Aha!" I gloated, still grinning widely. "You _did_ lie to me!"

Now it was his turn to blink at me. Once, twice. A tiny frown caused a crease to form in between his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, and I could practically see the mental gears turning. "But I have no idea what you're going on about."

"You called this," I drummed my fingers over the smooth surface of the counter top, "'_my_' bar." He blinked again, clearly not making the connection. "This bar does not belong to you, it belongs to the owner of this establishment—" here his eyebrows shot up "—and as such, you lied to me."

He stared at me for a moment, this time without blinking. "So... you mean to say that you are judging my trustworthiness over a proper noun?"

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks again. When he put it that way...

"Yes." I said, but it didn't come out as convincing as I would've liked it to.

He shrugged, and in that one moment, I hated him for looking so nonchalant and sophisticated while I struggled awkwardly. "I don't see what the big fuss is over proper nouns. I personally like them. Could you imagine a world without proper nouns? I know I couldn't."

"No," I moaned, rubbing my temples. "This has nothing to do with proper nouns."

"But you said it did," he countered. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Did _you_ lie to_ me_?" he whispered in mock-horror.

I shot him an incredious look. "No! I mean, no," I sighed, flabbergasted. "It's not the noun itself, but the way you... the way you said it."

"Oh," he said, nodding as recognition lit his eyes. I gave him a warning look; if he was going to start going on about life's great question or proper nouns again... Upon noticing my facial expression, he put up his hands in surrender.

"No, truly," he said, giving me an apologetic smile, "I understand. It's not what you say, it's how you say it. Am I correct?"

I regarded him suspiciously and he chuckled.

"Oh, stop looking like someone violated the woman's creed," he laughed and I felt my draw drop. "Men have sisters, too, you know."

I raised an eyebrow at this. "And that makes you part of the elite, 'I-Understand-Women-More-Than-The-Average-Joe group?"

"Not just me," he replied without missing a beat. "There's actually more than one man in this world with a sister, believe it or not. Some men even have more than just one," he shuddered, and I rolled my eyes.

"And are you one of the lucky souls who only have one hormonal female to deal with?" I inquired, feeling my words come out more smoothly now as I grew more comfortable with this strange man.

"Not lucky, but fortunate, yes." Our eyes locked and he flashed a crooked smile a me. Instantly I felt my comfort levels drop once more.

Tearing my eyes away to stare at the half-wall that almost completely surrounded the bar area of the small restaurant. It had seemed to pleasant and warm when I'd first come in with Quil. It was a Tuesday, which meant that the back half of the restaurant beside the bar had been cleared of tables in order to create a small area for dancing. Who knew that one of the most mortifying moments of my life had happened after one of my most graceful?

"What's she like? Your sister, I mean." I asked quickly, knowing I'd started to blush. I could feel more than see that he'd raised a brow in my direction, but I continued to stare off towards the happy couples dancing. This was, after all, a family restaurant.

"She's very... spirited," he said cautiously, almost as if he were weighing the words as he spoke them. I couldn't help but smile.

"But," he continued, "There are more pressing issues at hand, such as knowing what exactly caused this—" I saw him gesture at me out of the corner of my eye "—conversation."

I turned to look at him. "You call this a conversation?"

He grinned at me. "You don't?"

I rolled my eyes, and he chuckled. He took a step away from where he'd been leaning for the majority of our chat in order to lean across from me again. His face was abruptly serious.

"Truly," he murmured, and I fought to keep my heartbeat steady. Damn those eyes! "What would cause a smart girl like you to question life in such a manner?"

I snorted, and causing him to bite back a smile. "I would hardly refer to myself as 'smart'. And it wasn't life I was questioning," I said bitterly. He looked surprised for a moment, and then I saw it, that mental _click,_ and suddenly, he was angry.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asked, his face suddenly inches away from mine. I froze, gaping at him for the umpteenth time that night. His eyes bore into mine, almost as if he was expecting me to spontaneously combust or something.

If I was to spontaneously combust, it would not be because of _Quil._ I snorted again— the winced upon suddenly realizing that he probably felt the air from my nostrils. How attractive.

... not that I cared if I was attractive or not.

"No, no," I said, waving my hand in front of our faces. This seemed to snap him out of whatever philosophical brainstorm he'd gone into, and he pulled away to lean against the back of the bar once more. Was it just me, or was there a faint pink colour staining his cheeks? I looked again, but it was gone.

He looked at me expectantly, and I realized that he thought I was going to elaborate. When he gestured for me to continue with his hands, I felt my eyes widen a fraction as fresh blood assaulted my face once more. Quickly I looked back towards the dancers.

He'd stepped toward me again, and paused, before letting out a light chuckle. "I just realized," he murmured quietly, "I don't know your name."

This caused me to look back at him and laugh myself. "Bella," I said with a smile.

"Bella," he repeated, smiling back. "Now Bella, would you like to continue?"

I blanched. No, no no no no no...

"But I don't know _your_ name," I protested. He simply flashed me an a grin.

"Tell me the story, and I'll tell you my name," he responded.

My eyes narrowed into slits. "Then it was nice meeting you, _sir,_" I said darkly, and began to peer around my ankles, looking for where my coat and purse had fallen to the floor.

Something clenched around my upper arm, and I looked up, startled. He was looking at me with large, sincere eyes, and I felt myself begin to soften.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know I'm being terribly rude, but it's not every day I have this much fun at work." He flashed me another smile. "Would you pretty please tell me your story?"

I stared at him, completely helpless. His eyes seemed to _smolder_ under the dim lights of the bar, and I felt my resolve weaken.

"Fine," I huffed, pulling my arm free from his grip. The skin felt cold where his fingers had held. "But you have to promise not to laugh."

"You have my word," he smiled, using an imaginary zipper to seal his lips.

"Alright," I sighed. If I were standing, I'd be wedging my toe into the ground right now. Instead I had to make do with staring at the counter while heat flooded my cheeks. "I came here with somebody."

"Oh?" he inquired, and I looked up. His face was carefully blank, but his eyes had a distinct tightness to them that made me feel nervous. Was my story that boring already?

"Yah," I blushed and looked down again. "His name was Quil. We met at a tupperware party my mom forced me to go to at his mom's house," I couldn't even bring myself to look up to see his reaction, I wanted to sink into the depths of time and space and never come out.

"And well... we hit it off. He was charming and sweet, and told me that we should hang out sometime. You know, a place without tupperware. So I agreed, and we decided to meet up here. Tonight." I sighed, feeling my face get redder and redder...

"Dinner was great, full of nice, casual conversation. Nothing too heavy, though. And then he invited me to dance... we danced a total of two times, _slow_ dances," I added, just so that he wouldn't think me a totally horrible person, "when this woman comes storming up."

"Ah, women," he sighed dramatically. I ignored him.

"Turns out... she was Quil's wife," I said, knowing that I had probably just broken the Guinness World Record of Reddest Face Ever. "And, on top of that, he has a two year old son." When the man behind the bar didn't say anything, I sighed. "And that's my story."

He still didn't say anything. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, waiting for him to tell me I was a stupid, naive little girl. I waited for him to tell me that my life sucked, and I needed a brain transplant to recover from the trauma. There was a sudden, strange chocking sound coming from behind the bar.

I glanced over in concern. "Hey, are you—" I felt my jaw drop as my entire body probably turned maroon. "You promised you wouldn't laugh!" I wailed.

Finally his guffaws were released, and he had to hold onto the tabletop for support as tears fell from his eyes. I watched him as he tried desperately to reign in his self-control, fighting the sudden sting behind my eyes.

"That's... that's..." he let out another chuckle, but finally seemed to be calming down. When he finally turned to look at me, grinning like a madman, he instantly sobered upon looking at my face.

"Hey," he soothed, "What's the matter?"

I glared into those sea glass eyes, and let venom pour into every one of my words. "Oh, you're done laughing now? No, really, it's okay. Laugh all night, if you need to. Aren't you going to call me impudent as well? Naive?"

He looked shocked, his eyes wide with something that almost resembled hurt. Slowly, they softened to an apologetic sadness that swept through me, and he tenderly lifted his hand to cup my cheek.

"Bella," he murmured, and I felt something warm slither down my spine. I'd forgotten I told him my name. "You are not impudent, nor are you naive."

"Really?" I chuckled blackly. "Are you sure about that? Because... because..."

"Because?" he prodded gently.

"Because... I don't know. I know I'm not beautiful or smart or cunning, but... I just want to feel loved, you know?" Oh, God, I was crying. I felt the tears slip down my face as I hiccuped pathetically. "But no matter what I do, I don't seem to be capable of that."

He sighed and let go of my cheek. _Now you've done it,_ I thought miserably to myself. But then he surprised me— he jumped up onto the counter and swung his legs over so that he was now on my side. He stood beside me, and pulled me into an awkward sideways hug.

"Do you know anything about men, Bella?" he murmured, stroking my hair. I couldn't help but laugh at this statement.

"They're all jerks?" I offered weakly.

"Most," he corrected from above, "But not all."

I made a disbelieving noise at the back of my throat. He chuckled.

"Look up for a second," he murmured. I frowned at this, but only because he couldn't see my face. "Bella..."

"Fine," I muttered, pulling my tear stained face away from his side.

"You see that man over there?" he pointed to a blonde-haired boy about our age, heavily flirting with a frizzy-haired girl on the dance floor.

"What about him?" I peered up at him curiously.

"He, for one, has been checking you out ever since you came over here by yourself. In fact, he was about to walk over here until I came to talk to you."he murmured. I blinked, trying to soak in this information.

"What?"

"And do you see that boy there?" he asked, gesturing to a russet skinned man with shaggy black hair. He reminded me of Quil. "He's been watching you as well. You should've seen his face when you started hitting your head on the counter."

I looked at the black-haired man in confusion. "But—"

"And that one, there?" he cut me off smoothly, jerking his head in the direction of a solid man with chocolate skin. "He saw the blonde haired one looking at you and went to talk with him. But by the time he finished, you were already being taken care of."

I'd fully leaned back in my bar stool by now, no longer staring at the men on the dance floor, but at the man in front of me.

"And _how_," I asked, forcing myself to look into the depths of his eyes, "do you know this?"

"Easy," he replied casually, as if we were speaking of the weather. "I was watching them."

"Why?" I asked, not understanding him, not understanding _them,_ not understanding any of it.

"You said it yourself, Bella. Men are jerks," he shrugged, as if this was all simple and made complete sense. I just gaped at him.

"You said..." I started slowly, trying to wrap my head around the matter, "that _most_ men are jerks. But not all."

He flashed me another crooked smile, and I felt my heart beat just a little bit faster.

"Well, on a night where everyone appears to be a jerk, I decided to attempt becoming the exception," he answered, his face carefully blank again. I gave him a long, hard look.

"Why?" I asked again, feeling ridiculous.

"Because, Bella," he sighed, and ran his finger through his hair like he had earlier. Much, much earlier, when he was simply a pretty face behind a bar... "You don't seem to see yourself clearly at all. You _are_ beautiful and smart and cunning, and the thought of leaving you alone and vulnerable to those men who just aren't really into you _for_ you..."

He sighed again, and I was almost left speechless. Almost.

"How did you know all these things," I questioned suspiciously, "if you hadn't _talked_ to me yet?"

He chuckled nervously. "Well, anyone who is muttering the great question of life..."

I couldn't help but scoff at this.

"You're just like them! Admit it," I teased. His face abruptly darkened.

"No," he murmured quietly, "I am nothing like them."

I raised an eyebrow questioningly. He leaned down so that we were at eye level, noses brushing, only this time there was no counter between us.

"Because I," he murmured, "am completely into you."

Slowly, so that I could've pushed away if I wanted to, he brought his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet, our lips moving in a slow rhythm that made my heart pound and eyes sting. Warmth tickled my insides, and a pleasant shudder tingled through my body.

When he leaned back, I couldn't help but smack him lightly. He looked surprised— and a little hurt— until he noticed the teasing glint in my eye.

"You are too a jerk," I announced, grinning at his beautiful face. He laughed softly.

"I never claimed I wasn't one, just that I was attempting to not follow that same path," he whispered, leaning in towards my lips again.

"Wait," I said when he was only a breath away. My mind was already fogging up from his proximity. "I still don't know your name."

He threw his head back and laughed then, loud and clear as a deep bell. When he turned back to me, his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"I wasn't lying when I said the bar was mine," he confessed, extending his hand to me. "My name is Edward Cullen, owner of Cullen's Family Bar and Restaurant. Please to meet you."

His grin was positively wicked as I felt my face turn up to maximum redness once more. Despite this, though, I clasped his hand firmly.

"Bella Swan, dimwit extraordinaire." I grinned back at him. He laughed and I felt my heart warm.

I think this was going to be the start of a very beautiful exception.


End file.
